


For Better or for Worse

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Futuristic Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Billdip Big Bang 2k18, Genome editing, M/M, Mentions of Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dipper has been raised for a single purpose- to kill the monster that led the subjugation of humanity. But in order to accomplish that, he would have to sacrifice his own life.





	For Better or for Worse

Two figures huddled close to a computer screen. The room was dark, the only thing illuminating the scene being the liquid crystal display in front of them.

The program ran.

The figures clad in white coats waited with bated breaths.

Finally, after minutes of silence, one breathed out, voice shaking with a hint of mania. “Yes, yes, yes, _yes_!”

“99.8% accuracy. Male, born four days ago. Currently at the St. Vincent Medical Center neonatal intensive care unit. Premature birth.”

“He’s…he’s a twin. How do we handle that?”

“Take both. If he decides to stray, the twin can be used to control him. This is the perfect circumstance. It can’t be a coincidence. It must be divine ordinance.”

“The goddess has chosen to bless us. It is a sign that we are on the right path!” Figure one fell to its knees, shaking and trembling as tears flowed freely from dark eyes.

 “With this blessing we will end the Era of Night once and for all.”

They each withdrew daggers from their robes and dragged the sharp edges across their palms, letting blood from the deep gashes drip and splash onto the floor. They proceeded to lap up their own blood off the floor with their tongues, shuddering in unmistakable pleasure as they did so.

“Our blood is our own, our blood is our own, our blood is our own,” they murmured, over and over and over again as they writhed in ecstasy on the ground.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Every mortal was born to die. The difference between Dipper and everyone else, however, was that he was raised knowing his sole purpose was to die.

He understood the meaning of his sacrifice, of course. How could he not? He’d been indoctrinated with it all his life. Sometimes, however, like today, he allowed himself to feel the little burst of selfishness that welled up within him, yelling at him about how unfair it all was.

He was a person. He’d learned to crawl at seven months. He’d learned to ride a tricycle by three. He could draw a square at four. His naïve, young self worked damned hard to hit those developmental milestones. He’d learned to read, to write, to churn out essays at 4 a.m. like every other dead-eyed student. He was published in an academic journal for goodness’ sake—an impressive feat for a twenty-year-old. But all this for what?

What was the point of all this if he was slated to die before he was even legal to drink, if all he was meant for was to be humanity’s defense to counter the strongest weapon the vampires had—Bill Cipher himself.

Cipher was their killer, their assassin, their general. He was one of their strongest sources of power. Without his strength and his ruthlessness, the subjugation of humanity would not have succeeded the way it did all those centuries ago, relegating mortals to second class citizens.

The Family was truly the only family that Dipper and Mabel had ever known. They were a group that believed ardently in the wisdom of their Goddess, and Dipper tried to follow suit as strongly as a natural skeptic faced with the authority of an invisible entity could. He chose to believe in the wisdom of their Goddess, following her whispers that prophesized the end of the vampiric race and their reign over earth. The night creatures were merely a test of humanity’s strength; that was what their religious leaders relayed whenever they communicated with Her. After this trial was over, a new era of enlightenment and prosperity would shine through.

And for that to happen, Dipper had to perform his duties.

Tomorrow, his time would finally come to an end.

They would present him to his target, who would then drain him dry of every drop of blood in his body—a body had been seeded with a hematologic disease. After years of experimentation, researchers within the family managed to engineer a chromosomal translocation in humans that would alter the composition of blood cells in the bone marrow, forming blood that, if consumed by vampires, would immediately weaken them. While there were plenty of blood diseases in humans that could harm vampires, there were none so far that were undetectable by older, more powerful elites like Cipher. This was a new biologic weapon, and Dipper’s genome had been edited to carry it.

Cipher would be left weak, easily eliminated.

It would mean the end of an era for the vamps, without their famed general.

But it would also mean the end of Dipper’s tiny, insignificant life.

 

 

Mabel took a seat beside him on the rooftop of their tiny home just on the outskirts of the city. There was no trace of the moon in the sky above. If it had been daytime, the fog layered in the air would have obscured their vision, lending an air of gloominess to the scene, but in the black of night all they sensed were the soft prickles of moist air on their skin.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said, gripping his hands which were cold and clammy from hours of sitting out in the night. “Don’t do this Dip. You’re all I have.” She pressed her forehead against his, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“Don’t let the Goddess hear that,” Dipper said lightly.

“The Goddess can go screw Herself,” Mabel replied. A Pause. They both flinched instinctively at her audacity and then stared at the sky, as if expecting some sort of indignant comeback from above. Nothing happened, so she continued. “Do you really still believe everything the Family has tried to instill in us ever since we were born?”

“You’ve always been stronger than me when it comes to your convictions, Mabel. But…the Family and its purpose is all I have. What if we do run away? What then? We work some soul-crushing minimum wage jobs until we save enough money to go back to uni, I finish my degree and work as a teaching assistant for the rest of my life, never able to achieve my dream to becoming a professor because that position isn’t usually permitted to _humans_? I spend the rest of my limited days as a second-class citizen like the rest of humanity until my bones disintegrate, having made the same impact as a single worker bee on the hive of glorious capitalism? And that’s only if I even survive the sickness they’ve infected me with, which would be almost a miracle.”

“It doesn’t have to take a miracle, Dipper,” Mabel sounded almost exasperated.

“We both know that humans who aren’t _lucky_ ,” he spat the word out sardonically, “enough to be enslaved to a patron vampire have to pay their own medical bills, Mabel. Where would I get that money? I’d be dead within the year.”

“We can find a way. I’ll become a famous artist. Every painting I sell will be enough to pay for your treatments ten times over.”

Dipper sighed in frustration. “I’m not saying I don’t believe in you, Mabes, but life doesn’t usually work out so easily.”

Mabel shook her head. “No. It’s not the end for us. It can’t be. We’re so _young_. We still have an entire life left to live.”

“That’s exactly what a spoiled sixteen-year-old might say before crashing their dad’s electric blue Lamborghini after an hour of keg stands.”

“…Okay, you lost me. I have no idea what that has to do with anything.”

“A psychologist might call it the myth of invincibility, or the invincibility fable. It’s part of natural cognitive bias. Individuals are predisposed to thinking that they’re unique, that anything which might befall an ordinary mortal can’t touch them. But that’s just wishful thinking, Mabel. This is it for me. This is my destiny.”

“Umm, wow, cool the posturing, Mr. Liberal Arts Education. Stop doing this to yourself. We’ll figure something out, I promise.” She gripped his hands harder in reassurance, but he didn’t feel particularly reassured.

They fell silent to the background of a gentle pitter patter of rain against the rooftop, and eventually dozed off on the rough tiles until the sun’s rays rose up to warm their faces.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was called _la vente aux enchères_. It meant ‘the auction’ in French, which was, frankly, a bit embarrassing in its pretension since the auction didn’t even take place in France. It took place in Middle of Nowhere, Oregon, for some arbitrary reason that no one could determine, inside an antiquated gothic-style mansion meant to appeal to the older, traditional elites.

The event took place once a year. It was like the vampire equivalent of a wine tasting, or more accurately a high-end food tasting. To them it was a culinary art. The Blood Artists, as they called themselves, specialized in preparing _humans_ , the way a human chef would specialize in preparing entrées. They bred and engineered humans in pursuit of the best tastes, trying to create the most tempting and unique flavors of blood. Only the extremely wealthy were invited to this exclusive event where they got to individually scent the various aromas, but only the wealthiest of the wealthy were invited to the auction afterwards, where each human was sold to the highest bidder.

As custom and respect for the blood artists dictated, the buyer had to finish the entire course, meaning they were required to drain their meals of all their blood. That way, the exclusiveness of the artist’s _creations_ was preserved. This meant that every human stepping foot in the mansion tonight had only one fate—death. Dipper might have felt sympathy for them, except that these people had been raised to believe it was a high honor to die serving the very monsters who’d had them enslaved before they were even a single celled organism in some human incubator’s uterus. They would likely die with pleased smiles on their faces as they were slowly exsanguinated and permanently freed of their pitiful servitude. In all honestly, that didn’t sound very different from Dipper’s own circumstances; he and them—they’d all been brainwashed, just towards different ends.

According to their sources, Bill Cipher wasn’t usually a participant in the auctioning. He showed up, but it was more out of an obligation to maintain his image as an elite of the elites, rather than to indulge in the pleasure of feeding. Rumor was he preferred his meals obtained in a less…civilized manner, instead of being presented in the neat, elegant form of vampiric high art.

Dipper, however, had been carefully chosen and molded to make him the sole exception to that rule. The Family had selected him through an intricate matching algorithm they’d crafted with years and years of patience and dedication. He was meant to meet Cipher’s preferences in every dimension possible—appearance, scent, taste, temperament; he was the calculated perfect trap. What it all came down to, basically, was that Dipper was going to die for the sheer audacity of _being Cipher’s type._ What a way to go. It was a little bit funny when he thought about it like that.

The artists were in the process of setting up the exhibitions in the various different rooms of the manor, each a different artificial scene. It reminded him a little of the Mammal Halls he saw that time he visited the old Natural History Museum in New York, which displayed a series of dioramas featuring giant, taxidermized beasts roaming amongst an artistic replica of their natural environment. He could empathize with those taxidermy creatures; he was nothing more than an amusing display of a lesser species to these vampires, and he was a soon-to-be dried out husk, as well.

Dipper was brought to a room made to resemble a soft, woodland scene, where they arranged him curled up against the stump of a chopped down pine tree. He was frozen in place with a paralysis drug, eyes closed—a mannequin posed like motionless artwork. His head was resting so gently and peacefully on top of the smooth surface that the hard, uncomfortable block of wood could almost be mistaken for a soft pillow to an undiscerning viewer. Wet moss littered the ground underneath his feet, exuding an earthy scent that would have been comforting if his head weren’t on the chopping block, quite literally.

Cream-colored roses snaked up and around his arms, as if he’d been asleep there for so long that the plants had claimed him as their own. The thorns cut into his skin, causing thin rivulets of blood to trickle down his arm, strategically releasing the scent of his blood to all the eager predators that would be visiting.

 

 

The artist hummed as she worked—a chilling, dissonant melody undoubtedly disconcerting to humans, but was probably a pleasant sound for vampires.

By the time the artist finished, Dipper found himself genuinely falling into slumber.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bill was bored.

For many nobles, politicians, investors, and other such people holding lofty positions of power, the blood auctions were one of the most anticipated events of the year. Bill, though, found it as enjoyable as deep-cleaning a bathroom—not that he’d ever personally accomplished such a task before, as he had servants to do that, but still, it was the spirit of the comparison that mattered. This was far from the first, second, or even third time he’d done this. In fact, it was more like the fiftieth. The first time it was a bit of a novelty, but there was nothing about these events that ever really piqued his attention. He did like indulging in his self-acknowledged narcissism however, so showing up at an exclusive occasion just to exude an air of superior disinterest was exactly the kind of petty thing he enjoyed.

Bill walked dismissively from display to display, internally sneering at some of the exhibitions. They were even more tasteless than usual this year. It seemed like they were going for some ethereal nature theme, but it felt more like he was walking through some grandmother’s amateur herb garden. What a disappointment. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his social media feed dully as he ambled down the corridor.

Then, as he rounded the corner, an imitable scent struck his senses, making him still completely and look up in surprise. It was faint, coming from all the way at the end of the long hall, but it was distinctive enough to completely overshadow all the other dozens of scents saturating the air.  An invisible rope tugged him forward dazedly, as if he was a helpless rat bewitched by the Pied Piper. A feeling that he couldn’t quite describe unfurled in his chest; it was something like…a sensation of helplessness he didn’t mind, one that he wasn’t distressed by. It felt oddly almost pleasant.

When he entered the room, he found another patron already there. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized the other vampire as someone vaguely familiar—possibly someone famous, or an insignificant acquaintance. He didn’t care. His deep red gaze was welded to the sleeping figure in the center of the room.

“Leave,” he demanded coldly.

Upon hearing his tone and seeing who was ordering him, the other person couldn’t get out fast enough.

No one else would dare ruin the artwork without the artist’s permission, but Bill was not anyone else. He walked towards the blissfully unaware figure, grabbing the thorny vines and angrily tearing them off so they could no longer dig into fragile human skin.

This blood was belonged to him. From now on not another drop would be spilled without his permission.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 When Dipper awoke, he was in a different room. Like all other rooms in this mansion, it was opulent and tacky. It was abundant with silver and gold threaded fabrics, and a tiered chandelier with octopus-like arms hung overhead. The auction must have ended, and afterwards the servants must’ve brought him to one of the designated private rooms for feeding. Knowing he’d slept through the auction was honestly a bit of a relief. He didn’t think he could handle the indignity of being bid on like an antique pocket watch. The only downside was that he’d missed the outcome. There was always the risk that Cipher hadn’t been the one to take the bait. In that case, he would be sacrificing his life for a whole lot of disappointment.

Fortunately, when the door finally opened, those worries were laid to rest. The vampire in front of him was exactly the one he’d anticipated, but he was not entirely what Dipper had been expecting. Yes, he was tall with familiar sharp, elegant features and immaculately styled honey-colored hair—unfairly handsome exactly the way biased media loved to describe him as—but Dipper had been expecting someone with a stiffer mien, one that was more frosty and aristocratic. Instead, this was someone with a perpetually mischievous grin, a grin that edged the border between playful and dangerous. It wasn’t clear whether he was here about to deliver the best improv of your life or claw your visceral organs out one by one. It must be advantageous as a predator to be able to catch people off guard like that.

The other man took a seat on the opposite end of the velvet settee and surveyed him silently. Dipper shrunk into himself. There was no script for this. What on earth was he supposed to say in this situation? Couldn’t they just get onto the main event? In an ideal world, he would die surrounded by friends and family and people who loved him, not spend his last moments being suffocated by this…air of awkwardness.

“…Hi,” Dipper said dumbly. “Um, mister,” he added belatedly, so as to not come off as rude. He internally smacked himself. Why did he care about being rude? Did steak worry about its manners before being served for dinner?

Cipher cocked his head and hummed thoughtfully.

Dipper barely refrained from cringing. “I’m…I’m sure you’re a busy man with appointments with other busy people. So, can we just please get this over with?”

“You’re quite a strange one. Aren’t you lot usually conditioned to be all respectful and humbled to be sacrificed to one of us?”

“I am being respectful. Respectful of your time, that is. Sir.”

“They allow you to be this cheeky?” He asked, raising a brow.

“It’s part of the aesthetic.”

Cipher stared at him like Dipper was some kind of mystery. He grabbed one of Dipper’s hands by the wrist, bringing the surface up the palm up to his nose and sniffing delicately as if he could find his answers that way. “If you thought I was going to let you off that easily, you’d be mistaken. I wanted to pick you apart and see what made you so compelling to me.”

_The answer to that lies in some computer science nerd’s magnum opus,_ Dipper thought wryly. _Some stupid algorithm that wasn’t kind enough to leave a blameless newborn alone._

Cipher’s statement made him worried, however. Dipper couldn’t take the chance that the dose wouldn’t be enough to weaken Bill if the vampire didn’t completely drain him. Now he needed to convincingly persuade someone to kill him, which went against just about every self-preservation instinct begging him to choose sweet, sweet life.

“Tradition won’t allow you to let me live. As you know, part of the allure of the auction is that each exhibit is a singular experience, which means I can’t be allowed to live after someone feeds from me. You’d be disrespecting an institution backed by many powerful people, and for what? I’m nothing more than a willing meal.”

“Tradition? I set tradition. Why would I be afraid of offending anyone? If I went out and called this practice archaic and unfashionable, not a single person would have the audacity to attend next year, or the year after that. Do you really want to die so badly?” he questioned.

Dipper couldn’t think of a reply to that.

“How about this? Let’s make a deal. I can drain you, bringing you to a point of near death. If by that point you still have the strength to seek death, I’ll let you win. I’ll give you what you ask for.”

Dipper thought about it and nodded, a lot less decisively than he’d have liked.

With that, Cipher leaned in, crowding him against a corner of the couch, cool breath against his lips. Then, he felt his head being tilted to the side as sharp teeth abruptly entered his skin.

It was an experience that would undoubtedly haunt his every waking moment for eternity. It was the feeling of cool raindrops on a humid summer night. It was the first beam of sunlight in the aftermath of a nuclear detonation. It was the first spelling bee he won. It was the rapture of floating weightless in a field of wildflowers. It was the sweet touch of a fond memory almost forgotten. This was nothing like what he’d been told it was like. Being bitten was often described as something fervent, as tarnished lust…not this pure sensation of comfort and belonging and euphoria and home. He felt himself closing his eyes, fading, and then…it all stopped, and he found himself on the precipice of fainting from the blood loss.

“Do you still want to die?” The words were whispered into his neck.

Did he want to? No, no, he didn’t. Of course not. But he had to, and this was the most peaceful way it could possibly end. He wouldn’t mind slipping away in a haze of euphoria.

Numbly, he nodded.

“No.” Cipher snarled and threw him off the settee onto the marble floor.

Dipper blinked weakly, almost too dazed to be surprised.

“I didn’t get to where I am by being that _dense_. I know what your plan was. I may not be able to taste the poisoned blood, but I can taste an assassination attempt from a mile away. I have to admit, this was one of the finer efforts though. So cruel, but admittedly it would’ve been poetic. That doesn’t mean I won’t find each and every individual who thought to use my bonded against me. And you, my dear, you can pay for it for the rest of your life with me.”

Black spots were dotting his vision, and he could barely understand any of the angry words pouring out of the other’s mouth. Something about revenge? Ah, well, death had always been written in his fate, hadn’t it? There was nothing that could scare him more than that. With that reassurance to himself, he let unconsciousness drag him away.

 

 

Dipper was quickly getting tired of waking up in different locations after being knocked out. This time he was in a hospital, an IV drip in his vein. At least here, the interior décor couldn’t get too offensive.

There was a man standing near the door of his room, guarding it. Probably one of Cipher’s. Vamp, from the looks of it. He had to make his escape now. There was only a limited window of opportunity before Cipher came back, and he needed to take this chance. But how could he take out a trained fighter that was so much stronger than him? Ugh, think, think, _think_ , Dipper. He looked around the room and spotted nothing useful, except a sheet of paper sitting on top of the drawer. That gave him an idea.

Grabbing the paper, he sliced two of his fingers with it, wincing slightly. He walked up to the man, assuming a slow, groggy demeanor to conceal his intentions. As the other opened his mouth to speak, Dipper quickly jabbed his bleeding fingers between the man’s lips while he was caught off guard.

Dipper knew the draw of good blood, and he knew the addictive value of his own. He wasn’t above using someone’s predatory instincts against them. As expected, the vampire couldn’t control himself, and sunk his fangs in. Dipper shouted loudly in distress, bringing hospital security rushing in. Human hospitals were considered one of few protected areas; vampires were prohibited from feeding within them, as that would cause too much chaos in an environment intended for healing. Successfully getting that law passed a few decades back had been a rare victory for human rights.

The vampire fought back against the hospital staff, escalating the fight, and in the rush of chaos Dipper took the opportunity to make his escape unnoticed. After snagging a roll of gauze from a supply room on the way out, he bound his fingers tightly, concealing the scent of his blood to avoid attracting unwanted attention in public.

Once he successfully ran a dozen or so blocks away despite his pounding chest and lightheadedness, he slipped into an alley and took a deep breath.

There was no one he could call, no one to rely on for now. He couldn’t pull Mabel into it at this stage; it was too dangerous. Fighting the urge to sink his fists into the stained brick walls, he collapsed onto the floor and buried his face in his hands.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Months later found Dipper struggling to make ends meet working in a small grocery store in a shady inner-city neighborhood. He’d done so much stocking shelves and lifting heavy boxes during this time that his noodle arms probably would’ve been ripped by now if it hadn’t been for the blood cancer eating away at him.

In his desperation, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to live on without having the money to pay for medical bills to cure his disease, he’d started anonymously selling his blood through a less-than-legitimate marketplace on the deep web. It was illegal to sell blood anonymously, but it was an open secret that the black market possessed the highest quality blood, mainly because many anonymous sellers with valuable blood wanted to make a profit without having to deal with vampires knocking down their doors to claim them as a food source.

He made sure to sell infrequently, and only in small volumes, so that the amount wasn’t enough to cause harm and bring him to the attention of authorities. Despite only selling a small amount, the popularity of his blood was astonishing—even more so because of the limited supply—and according to his calculations, he would only have to keep selling for a few more months before he would likely be able to afford chronic treatment from an oncologist. Yet, even with the money, deep down he knew his chances were slim. What was the likelihood that they would even be able to find a treatment for such a novel disease? Even the Family, the ones responsible for bringing life to this illness in the first place, probably had no cure for it. They had no need for one. And even if they did have the cure, he couldn’t go back to them in the face of his failure. He could only hope that Mabel didn’t have to bear the consequences of his ruin.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of his boss storming in from the back room. The door slammed loudly behind him, and he came over to pound a giant fist against the checkout conveyer belt Dipper was manning like some kind of cartoon villain. His face was red with fury and he was shouting.

“Which one of you punks broke the faucet handle in the bathroom sink? It’s leaking water everywhere!” he demanded.

_No one broke it_ , Dipper thought glumly. _It was only a matter of time because you’re too cheap to pay for repairs._

“Hey, mister boss man, I don’t think it was either of our faults,” his other coworkers, Soos defended from behind the stack of fruits he was restocking. “It’s been getting kinda old ya know.”

“I’ve hired a bunch of imbeciles. Someone’s gotta admit to doing it so I can deduct it from your paycheck, or you’re both getting fired.” His manager clearly didn’t care to conceal how transparent his motives were. Dipper ached with how unfair it was, but he knew there was no convincing the man otherwise. He was looking for a scapegoat, not a culprit.

“Me,” Dipper sighed. “It was me.”

“Well you could’ve owned up to it in the first place. With how dishonest you’ve been, how do I know you haven’t been stealing from the till? I’ll be keeping my eyes on you, kid,” he warned.

Dipper just shrugged and turned his back to him, reorganizing the already perfectly well-organized stack of gum behind the register until his boss finally retreated.

“Thanks dude,” Soos said sympathetically. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay, you’ve gotten my back enough times,” Dipper smiled weakly.

“Aw shucks,” Soos grinned back.

Just as he thought the drama of the day was over, two young man with large black hoodies and covered faces stepped into the shop brandishing guns.

“Empty out the cash register,” one of the men said forcefully. The pitch of his voice was slightly high, belying his nervousness.

Dipper, in his apathy, didn’t even try to argue with them. He probably could’ve figured out a way to deal with two small time criminals, but he was just too done with everything. Sighing, he unlocked the cash register and pulled out the money, movements as slow as possible due to spite, before handing it all over.

He grabbed a stick of gum and tossed it at them as an afterthought. “In case your breath is bad,” he added.

“You looking to get shot?” The second, taller man said angrily, getting up in his face.

“Bad breath confirmed,” Dipper muttered. The taller robber looked like he was going to plant a fist in his face, but his accomplice pulled him back, shaking his head urgently.

“We gotta go, man.” With that, they ran out the door, the shorter one almost smacking into the glass door in his haste to get away.

Ah, Dipper was definitely getting fired after this. Oh well.

That night, Dipper tossed and turned as he slept on a second-hand air mattress he got from a thrift store. He woke up to the feeling of a completely drenched back, his shirt and thin sheets both soaked through. Night sweats. He knew that was a bad sign. He’d been losing weight at an alarming rate recently, too. It meant his health was deteriorating rapidly. How much longer could he hold on?

On the bright side, at least he didn’t have to spend the last of his days working that soulless job anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bill was sitting in the VIP section of some forgettable bar, inwardly withholding a smug look as he waited expectantly to see how the businessman across the table was going to suck up to him. There was currently a struggle happening between two major corporations, and this CEO wanted his support because the best way to assure victory in this world was with Bill Cipher’s backing.

“So? What can you offer me that would pique my interest?”

“Well, as you may understand, our most recent acquisition of…” Blah, blah, blah, Bill tuned him out. How dull.

“Excuse me,” a server appeared, bearing two glasses of deep red blood on a silver tray. Human, by the looks of it, and he seemed like he was a second away from collapsing to the ground in a puddle of nervousness. “I have your drinks.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” the businessman said, looking suddenly delighted. He turned to Bill with a gleam in his eye.

“Only the finest drinks for my finest guest,” he said smugly. “This blood is the talk of high society these days. Exceedingly rare, and an exquisite taste. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the hoops I had to jump through to get my hands on it. The first time I tried some, I couldn’t bring myself to taste anything else for days. Everything else felt so bland I almost starved.”

The corner of Bill’s mouth quirked up. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement. Sounds more like a drug of abuse.”

“Trust me. You won’t regret it.” The other man leaned in close, saying slyly, “in fact, I’m counting on this to help win your favor.” He winked, then took a sip from his glass.

Bill lifted up his own glass, but just before he brought it to his lips, he froze. The glass shattered in his hands from the sudden power of his grip, splashing the table in deep red.

That _scent_.

He hadn’t noticed it earlier—he’d been too distracted, but it was unmistakably that scent. He snarled, knocking the table over and gripping the other vampire by the lapel.

“Where did you get this?” he enunciated slowly.

“I—I—from a seller, who gets it from someone else, who in turn gets in from someone else. If you want to find the source, it’s impossible! Many have tried. I tried for weeks!”

“Many are also not Bill Cipher,” he said, narrowing his eyes before finally letting go of the other. “Now, tell me everything. Maybe then your corporation will have my support.”

 

 

It took him two full days to track down Dipper Pines.

Bill got out of his car, sneering distastefully at the taste of urine in the air emanating from the alley next to the apartment. He didn’t often have cause to step into human neighborhoods. Standing here in front of this poor excuse for a building, he decided he was definitely not missing out.

When he walked into the dusty studio, he found Dipper lying in bed, sweating and delirious with fever. Unfamiliar concern poked at his gut.

He remained standing, skeptical of the single chair in the room with a dark purple stain on its cushion. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Is this really a better life than coming with me?”

Dipper blinked blearily up at him and groaned. “Go away, I’m useless to you, can’t you see I’m dying? If you really want revenge, rest assured, my lymphocytes are probably doing a better job than you can.”

“I’m…not quite sure that’s medically accurate,” Bill quirked a brow.

Dipper weakly tried to fling a dirty sock at him. It missed by more than a meter. “How would you know?”

“I have a lot of degrees.”

“Great, go write a book, leave me alone.”

Bill sighed, feeling strangely endeared. “I’m not here for revenge, Dipper. I’m here for you.”

“…Why?” was asked morosely.

“Let me ask you this first. Do you know why, out of everyone, your little cult picked you?”

“Not a cult.”

“There’s chanting.”

“…Only a bit a cult.”

“What did they tell you?”

“Dunno, they said lots of things. There was a—a computer algorithm thing? It said you would like my blood. And that you’d, like, think I was hot. Or something,” he slurred.

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Bill’s lips. “It was never that simple, Dipper. They were looking to find my bonded. And they found it. Him. You’re my once-in-a-lifetime chance. You can’t expect me to let it go so easily.”

There was a long pause as the human’s groggy brain struggled to process what was happening. “But you’re, like, so _evil_ ,” Dipper said, looking so serious and so despondent that Bill really wanted to poke his cheek.

“Only a little bit. There’s shades of grey in this world, pine tree. Your cult is arguably more immoral than I’ve ever been.”

“Um, didn’t you kind of,” he yawned, “kind of subjugate all of humanity though?”

“Yes, well, your kind did it to us first. Anyway, we have an eternity to argue about history, but for now let’s focus on the present. After we cure your disease, can you promise me you’ll take in what I have to show you with an open mind?”

“You sound so sure I can be saved. Maybe I’m destined to expire on this ratty air mattress.”

“Oh, please. I’d at least move you to onto a nice park bench.”

Dipper let out a little huff of laughter that stopped abruptly, as if he felt bad for finding Bill’s joke humorous.

“Fine, if you can get me to stop feeling like I’m on fire, I could maybe possibly think about the possibility of maybe considering what you have to say.”

“Ah, so it’s a deal then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Something like this, Dipper had been completely unprepared for.

It had been a long journey getting his health back on track, even with what was presumably the best medical care one could afford. Afterwards, he’d planned to go see whatever Bill wanted to show him, maybe pretend to humor the vampire a bit, and then run off into the wilderness and live alone in a log cabin for the rest of his life.

This was not part of the plan at all.

This was, to put it simply, _atrocious_.

Deep in the secret labs funded by what Dipper could finally admit to himself was some sort of cult, one that he used to _belong to_ , existed a ghastly violation of rights that no being should ever have to endure. And here, cruelty spared no one—regardless of whether you were human or vampire.

Experiment after experiment resided within the walls of the institution, the experiments being living, breathing individuals with their autonomies completely stripped from them.

A sharp shriek pierced the air, followed by a loud crash, and then silence. Not long after, another scream was heard.

Bill suddenly spoke, “How did you think your disease was conceived? Did you really think they were able to perfect a medical procedure without testing it on countless other humans? Did you think they would send the ace up their sleeves off to see me without making sure he was actually capable of weakening a vampire—by testing it directly on vampires themselves?”

“I get it,” Dipper said softly. “We have to get these people out of here.”

He heard a sudden shout that chilled his bones. “Get away from me!” a female voice shrieked. That voice. That was a voice that without a doubt belonged to Mabel. That was his _sister_.

Without thinking, he rushed towards the direction of the voice, not caring that their infiltration would almost certainly be exposed. He ran into the room and saw a group of scientists surrounding his sister, looking annoyed at his intrusion.

“Is this someone’s intern? I want him out of here!” The head scientist ordered.

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted.

Looking quickly between the both of them, the group of scientists seemed to realize what was going on. “Call security to detain him,” the lead scientist ordered the man closest to him. Before the man could make his way out of the room, Bill stepped in front of him and obstructed his exit, swiftly shattering both his kneecaps in a fraction of a second. Within another second, all five people in the room were knocked out with effortless precision.

Dipper quickly freed his sister from the restraints, checking her from head to toe to see if she was all right. Thankfully, there was nothing overtly amiss. “How long have you been here? Did they do anything to you?” he asked urgently, and she shook her head, slumping into his arms shaking.

“I’ve been here maybe week or so, I think. They haven’t done anything yet, just ran test after test and drew blood sample after blood sample. Today was the first day they were going to put me under for something, but I never found out what.”

“Thank god,” he said, relieved.

“We need to leave this place now. We can come back at a later time and tear it to the ground,” Bill interjected.

Mabel looked up. “Is that…?”

Dipper nodded.

“Do we…do we trust him?” Mabel said hesitantly.

“That remains to be seen,” Dipper replied. “But he hasn’t lied to me so far, I don’t think.”

His sister nodded, and together they made their way out.

 

 

That evening Dipper left Mabel curled up asleep in one of Bill’s guest rooms before setting out to look for the aforementioned man himself.

He found Bill in his study surrounded by blueprints of the building they had left behind, making curt commands into his phone as he circled areas on the map. Dipper stared at his figure, taking a moment to feel conflicted about how this man’s presence could make him feel simultaneously fearful yet somehow safe and comfortable. Seeing Dipper’s figure in the doorway, he disconnected his call, putting down the phone and beckoning him over.

“So. Do you finally understand what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time?” he asked.

Dipper sighed, staring out the window as he tried to piece his jumbled thoughts into something coherent.

“Yes, it was awful in those labs, and I deeply regret any contribution I’ve ever made to the Family. But—that doesn’t mean—well, can you really say what they’ve been doing is any worse than everything that’s happened to humans because of you? Not even just you as part of the collective vampire you, but _you_ , as in Bill Cipher.”

Bill looked back with a small frown. “I won’t make any cases for my innocence. Some of my actions in the past have defensible justifications, but just as many do not.”

Dipper was silent. “I understand. Then I hope you, in turn understand that _this_ ,” he gestured between them, “is something impossible in the world we live in.” He stood up to leave, but Bill grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

Bill opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Dipper tried to tug his hand away, but the blonde’s grip was steadfast.

“What if…what if it changed?” Bill asked, looking a little helpless.

“If what?”

“This world. If we rebuilt it. What would it take, Dipper Pines, to create a world in which you and I were possible?”

Dipper looked down at the man in front of him, mouth parted open a little in surprise. Slowly, he sunk back into the seat and set both his elbow on the table, hands folded under his chin as he leaned forwards with a small smile on his lips.

“Now I’m listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the people who organized this whole thing! And to my wonderful artist[ Nephy ](http://nephy-azul.tumblr.com/) (who is so freakin' impressive!)


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